For Those in Peril on the Sea
by Shawn's Pineapple
Summary: Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield wake up on a mysterious ship floating in the middle of the ocean with no memory of how they got there and an unwavering grudge against...each other.
1. The Beginning of the End

**Title:** For Those in Peril on the Sea

**Author:** Shawn's Pineapple

**Rating:** T

**Disclaimer:** Resident Evil and all its awesomeness belong to Capcom, not me.

**Summary:** Jill Valentine and Chris Redfield wake up on a mysterious ship floating in the middle of the ocean with no memory of how they got there and an unwavering grudge against...each other.

-

Jill Valentine felt like she'd been in a car crash. Her head pounded and her ears were ringing, and every muscle in her body was throbbing. She opened her eyes, and out of the left one, saw through a river of blood that cascaded down her forehead, a dimly lit room with its sole lamp swaying harshly above on the ceiling.

_Movement… Earthquake? No, a boat. Gotta be on a boat._

Jill tried to move and found she couldn' down, she realized for the first time that she was bound to a rusted metal chair, which in turn, was bolted to the floor. Wooziness entered her head once again and she shook it, trying to clear the cobwebs. She had no idea how she got here or even why.

_Okay, first thing's first,_ Jill told herself, _Gotta find a way outta this chair._

She pulled and yanked at the restraints, hoping to loosen them a bit. The ropes started laying into her skin, causing a burn to appear but she didn't let up. After a minute, her left hand was free and she grasped at the back of her belt for her knife. Luckily for her, it was still there, safely tucked away beneath her waistband. She flipped open the knife and started gnawing away at the rope. Less than twenty seconds later, the knife had made its journey through the rope and it fell quietly to the floor. Sweeping her hands in front of her, Jill grasped her wrists and rubbed them gingerly, the fresh blood staining her fingertips. Ignoring the pain, Jill reached down instinctively for her handgun and to her surprise, found it still in place.

_Wait a minute,_ she thought, removing her hand slowly from the firearm, _This is _too_ easy. Something's up…_

Jill stood up slowly, wary of any movement around the room. She took one step, then another, breathing shallowly, watching the four walls intently. Again, she reached for her gun; the weight of the weapon comforting in her hand. Ejecting the clip quickly, Jill found it was full.

_Something's definitely up…_

Expertly,she slapped the clip back in, cocked the gun and scanned the room with it. Nothing. She made her way to the door, and found that it was unlocked. A sudden wave of nausea overcame Jill and she had to lean against the door for a moment. Her head spun and she fought back the urge to throw up. A million thoughts ran through her mind at that moment.

_Can't be wounds…not severe enough….Must've…injected me….Who could've…Wesker? No…dead. Redfield…possibly. But how…?_

Chris Redfield had been Jill's mortal enemy since the Mansion Incident in '98. He and Albert Wesker had turned on the S.T.A.R.S, Raccoon City's elite police force, the Special Tactics and Rescue Service, leaving them for dead. According to Wesker himself, they'd both been working for the "pharmaceutical" company, Umbrella, and had planned the whole expedition to the mansion purposely. Jill was never close to Redfield, but Wesker had been almost like a father figure to her; always there when she needed advice in the field or in life and it hurt more than any injury she could've ever received when he'd turned on her. Maybe, if given the chance, Jill could've forgiven him, tried to understand why he did what he did, but that thought was shattered less than a year ago when she and two others in Africa had finished Wesker for good. Redfield had escaped that day, leaving Jill with nothing but Wesker's haunted memory and a vengeance for Chris' blood. After all, Wesker had explained that Chris was the reason he turned on everyone….

Jill shook her head, easing the thoughts away and instead focused on her breathing. _One, two, three, inhale. Three, four, five, exhale, _she willed the nausea away and the wave passed. She took a deep breath and grabbed the door's handle once more.

-

Chris Redfield was an expert marksman, trained pilot, and former S.T.A.R.S member. He was all of these things but at this very moment in time, he was just plain confused. He'd woken up lying in a puddle of his own blood, in a dark room, lit only by a sole, swinging light. His entire body ached and his vision swelled and he had an overpowering urge to puke all over the place. There was a large, gaping wound on the side of Chris' stomach and he vaguely remembered putting up a fight against an unseen assailant. How he ended up here, or even where here _was_, he couldn't say, but just knowing that he'd probably knocked someone unconscious made Chris smirk slightly. After allowing himself that two second interval of self-satisfaction, Chris' mouth fell into a straight line, all his features hardening, his demeanor now serious.

Using the wall as leverage, Chris made his way to his feet; his side throbbing in rhythm with his heart. A few drops of crimson fell to the floor with almost silent splashes and Chris looked down to find that the wound was beginning to coagulate.

_Still hurts like hell, though._

On his way up, Chris had felt a weight on his right hip, and checking now, he found his gun was still there.

_Huh, that's new…_

Chris knew from experience, many movies, and of course common sense, that it was stupid to leave a prisoner with a weapon. And until now, he'd never been lucky enough to have been taken hostage and left with a gun. The bad guys obviously watched movies too.

_Maybe it's rigged to explode when I pull the trigger…or even if I take it out of the holster._

He glanced down at his gun again. Over the years, his gun had become his best friend; the best partner anyone could ask for. You never had to worry if it would be there for you. It was always on time, always consistent. Unlike people, it would never fail you. Given the choice, Chris would always choose his gun as a partner over another of his species. He'd learned his lesson.

Over a decade ago, the night of the Mansion Incident, his former S.T.A.R.S teammates Jill Valentine and Albert Wesker had turned on him, the rest of Alpha team and what was left of the Bravos, revealing themselves to be working for the very company that caused the horrific incident. Chris, Barry Burton, and Rebecca Chambers from Bravo team had tried to stop them, and thought they had, until they had shown up less than a year later on Rockford Island while he was in search of his captured sister, Claire. Wesker had run away then, like the coward he was, leaving Jill and Chris to duke it out. Chris had cared about Jill, thought that maybe she felt the same, but with the first kick to his head that night, he realized just how wrong he was. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he had hoped that Wesker had somehow been manipulating Jill into helping him, that she couldn't have possibly gone along with what had happened in the Arklay Mountains on her own accord, but that hope was shattered when he saw just how ruthless Jill could be, even after Wesker had left her to defend herself. The fight ended with Jill slipping off the edge of a very large cliff, to her presumed death. Those who didn't know of Jill's escapades had buried an empty casket and given the space a headstone, hoping it would put Jill's soul to rest. Unbeknownst to anyone, including Barry and Rebecca, Chris had visited it on more than one occasion, leaving a bouquet of flowers every time. A few years later, he'd gotten word that Wesker was still alive and in Africa. Along with the help of Sheva Alomar, a native of the country, Chris took off in search of Wesker, and found something much more sinister. Jill was still alive and she was back to helping Wesker. The confrontation ended with Sheva and Chris destroying Wesker, once and for all, but the last Chris had seen of Jill, she had kidnapped Sheva's superior, Josh Stone, in a futile attempt to send a message. So, now, instead of just Chris searching for Jill, Sheva was involved too, and neither would rest until she was found. _  
_  
For now, Chris decided to leave the gun and his thoughts where they belonged. He needed to focus on the situation at hand if he wanted to get out of here alive.

-

**A/N: **Confused yet? :P Anyway, this originally started out as my attempt to figure out what Resident Evil: Revelations would be about but halfway through the first sentence, I realized what I was going to write would never fit into any canon of the universe. Instead, I decided to just take the setting and an element or two and branch off into my own story.


	2. Going Off the Deep End

**AN:** Sorry for the wait on this chapter, guys. My internet connection has been going crazy and it likes to die on me. :( :P It's not as long as I would've liked but I think it sets up chapter three nicely. :D  
**Disclaimer:** I still don't own Resident Evil and sadly never ever will.

* * *

Stepping into the corridor that lay just outside where she was taken hostage, Jill's nose wrinkled in disgust as a wave of decay and a bitter iron smell wafted toward her nose. If the smell wasn't enough, the blood splattered across the once pristine, white walls of the hall were proof enough that something was killed there...and recently.

_There's so much blood..._

Jill glanced around cautiously, taking the sight in. Before her, the wall of the corridor was erected, forcing her to go either left or right. To her right, a half-opened door stood, squeaking on its hinges, a blood smear slapped across the handle. Down the hall to her left, the corridor abruptly turned, hiding whatever lay there in the shadows. Even though both ends were covered in blood, the one on the right seemed to have somewhat more.

_Left or right?_ Jill mused. She sent a glance to the left._ I might have a better chance going left but..., _she turned her attention back to the right wing, _Someone could need my help..._

Gritting her teeth, Jill made the decision to venture right, inwardly sighing at her morals; in the same situation, she'd want someone to do the same for her.

* * *

The hallway outside of Chris' room was strewn with things he didn't even know existed in the human body. Chris had seen worse things in his life, but he still got a sharp pang in the side of his stomach. He wasn't sure if it was pity for the poor souls who had been killed here or fear of the fact that he could be next. Over his life, Chris had faced death more times than a cat and had always come out unscathed but he had a sinking feeling in his heart that he might not be walking away this time.

_At my funeral, they can tell everyone 'Here lies Chris Redfield, he lived to the ripe old age of 37',_ Chris scoffed inwardly. He took another look around the hall before him. _That is if they find my body at all..._

Chris had two options of travel; straight ahead or to the right. The passage to the right was dark, the lights that had once shone there cracked and broken, and Chris couldn't make out more than five feet in front of him.

_If it's this bad in the light, I doubt I really want to find out what's hiding in the dark._

Making his decision, Chris started forward, his eyes roaming over the corridor quickly, his guard up to 110%. Something glinted from the far end and Chris picked up his pace slightly, trying to avoid as much blood as possible. Just before he reached the object, though, Chris slowed, suddenly overcome with the thought that the shining item could be more harmful than helpful. His hand fell on his gun, remembering the feeling of dread that had flowed through him when he realized he wasn't in control anymore. It was more terrifying knowing that at any second, someone could change the rules...that was if any existed in the first place.

_Well, you've had a nice life, Redfield, considering you haven't even hit a mid-life crisis yet, _Chris laughed slightly, _Unless you count your entire life. _

Squinting his eyes_, _Chris tried to make out the object but saw only its shine reflected back toward him.  
_  
_"Eh, what the hell."

Chris stalked forward, bracing himself for whatever lay before him._  
_


End file.
